The Keyboard Is Mightier Than The Sword
by ThatOneFlyingMintBunny
Summary: Author and editor Arthur Kirkland had a fairly normal life, if you ignore his annoying secretary, but that's when things started to get weird. All of a sudden his characters start appearing in the real world, and things get worse when Arthur gets kidnapped into his own writing, by the main character! Will he be able to write a happy ending for himself? (USUK, Franada, and more!)
1. Chapter 1

_The rancid smell of blood and death wafted through the usually peaceful village of Tirianae. Bodies lay heaped in the streets, innocents slain by the vile General Braginski and his army. Alfred grimaced as he dwelled upon the image these poor men, women and children would have seen shortly before they perished- the scene of steel, blood and murder._

_As Alfred trudged through the village, sword in hand, he noticed increasing evidence of Braginski's powers over ice. Soft snow, stained crimson in some patches, lay melting on the path Alfred trudged, and icicles hung dripping from thatched roofs and broken windows. The troops must have left here recently._

_Alfred was here for one reason, and one reason only. He surveyed the half-frozen and bloodstained village for any sign of his foe. If he could only find out which direction the cruel ice mage had taken, he would find him. The Marked One. Little was known of the man, only that he was to be the saviour of this land. Alfred himself only carried a small piece of ripped parchment with him, torn from Braginski's notebook. Etched upon it was a sketch of a man in a mage's robe, with messy hair and a scar on the back of his left hand. Alfred could not see his face._

_As Alfred searched through the fallen debris of some nearby huts, a large crack rang through the air. Alfred turned to face-_

"Arthur, mon ami! I've got your files and tea!~" a heavily accented voice rang out in the gloom of Arthur Kirkland's office. Arthur sighed, saving the story he was writing and turning to eye Francis, his secretary, with annoyance. The blonde Frenchman stood in his doorway holding a cup of tea in one hand and a large wad of paper in the other.

"Francis, I told you not to interrupt me when I'm writing," Arthur said, exasperatedly, as Francis stepped into his room and set paper and tea down on the Englishman's desk, "But thank you for the tea." Arthur took a sip, wincing when the burning liquid hit his tongue. He dismissed Francis with a wave of his hand. However, the annoying secretary remained, peering over Arthur's shoulder in an attempt to read his story.

"Oh? Has Alfred found _l'amour _yet?" Francis said cheekily, earning himself a glare from Arthur, before the Englishman turned back to his writing.

"It's not a romance novel, git," Arthur grumbled, typing out a few more sentences. Arthur had just encountered Chun-Yan, a female warrior who also happened to be General Braginski's wife.

"But a novel without romance is a novel without life!" Francis said, aghast. Arthur pointed to the paragraph with Chun-Yan in it, deciding that this was the fastest way to get Francis out of his hair.

"She's married to Ivan."

"But they both die, _non_?" Francis countered. Arthur shot him yet another harsh look, and Francis took this opportunity to reach towards Arthur's keyboard and hastily write a few sentences. Arthur slapped his hand away, and glared at his computer screen. It now read:

_Etched upon it was a sketch of a man in a mage's robe, with messy hair and a scar on the back of his hand. Alfred could not see his face, but he felt strangely attracted to the mysterious man. He held the picture close to his heart, a blush dusted on his face. It was foolish for him to fall in love with a picture, yet he had._

Arthur growled, deleting Francis's words. The Frenchman looked proud with himself.

"See, _mon ami_? Much better."

"Coming from someone who writes bloody romance novels about _himself _on the sly. Now get out, frog, I like my version better." Francis gasped, a look of mock outrage on his face, but when Arthur hardened his stare, the Frenchman slunk out out his office. Arthur shut down his computer. Francis had ruined his writing mood. Instead he looked at the files Francis had left.

They were all writing applications from budding authors, some who were practically begging Arthur to edit their newest stories. Arthur flicked through them, pausing to read some that caught his eye. The life of an author/editor for "Hetalia Publishing" sure could get busy at times, and the 20 or so applications on Arthur's desk actually marked today as an easy day of work.

The editor quickly spied a work from one of his usual clients, Kiku Honda, a japanese manga artist who wrote fantasy stories in his spare time, and who was also a good friend of Arthur's. Arthur set the manuscript aside- he would read it later. The next story Arthur picked up was a sci-fi, and it looked promising enough. At a first glance it appeared he shared a first name with the protagonist, which was interesting. He began to read the first few pages.

_An alarm pierced through the gentle tranquility of the spaceship, waking all who slept inside. Captain Arthur Clarkland sprung up from his sheets, already reaching for his gun. He could hear the panicked shouts of his crew in the background, but all that mattered was that he isolate what the problem was._

_The alarm for intruders had rung. Art only hoped that they weren't who he thought they were. He creeped along the corridors, blaster gripped in his pale hands. As he had feared- there they stood- The notorious space pirate group "The Deadman's Trio". Epine, Weillschmidt and Hernández- each with a vile grin on their faces. Epine carried a electric whip on his belt, which crackled with energy, his companions preferring the traditional blaster guns._

_Art wasn't afraid of pirates, for he was one himself. But he __was afraid of "The Deadmen", although when facing him this was hardly ever apparent. He turned the corner he was hiding behind and pointed his blaster directly at the rival pirate group. Weillschmidt snarled at him, wanting to raise his own gun but being unable to without being shot. Art noticed Epine reaching for his whip and fired a warning shot._

_"Epine, Weillschmidt,_

_Hernández," he greeted coldly._

_Hernández returned the favour, "Clarkland."_

_"What the-"_

"Bloody hell!" Arthur shrieked, cradling his scorched hand. The spilled remains of his tea formed a large puddle on his desk, thankfully not staining any of his documents. Arthur inspected his hand. This was the fifth time this week he had spilt tea on himself whilst reading, and the evidence of this was showing- a permanent burn mark took up most of Arthur's left hand. He mopped up the spillage with some of the tissues Francis had put on the side of the desk after the 3rd time he had spilled tea everywhere. Arthur mentally thanked Francis for a moment before he realised what he was doing, instead turning to mentally slapping himself for even thinking of thanking The Frog.

* * *

"So you wish to arrange a meeting with Mr. Smith?" Francis asked, writing down this on a pink clipboard.

"Yes, the sci-fi author," Arthur replied, handing Francis the manuscript. He had half finished the story, and he was quite intrigued by it. Francis skimmed the text, raising one eyebrow appraisingly.

"You do realise-"

"Yes, I know the the protagonist and I share a name. Is that a problem, Francis?" Arthur said warily, fixing Francis with a glare. Francis nodded, turning away and heading out Arthur's door.

"And you call _me_ narcissistic..." The Frenchman mumbled, just loud enough for Arthur to hear. The Brit scowled, barking one last order at his secretary.

"And fetch me some ice!"

Francis slammed the door behind him, leaving Arthur to boot up his computer again. He opened his precious word document, and began to write.

_And turned to face a short woman, her auburn hair styled in two buns, tied with yellow ribbons. Her appearance closely resembled the foreigners Alfred had met a while back whilst sailing on the high seas during another epic adventure. Dirt and blood marred her pretty face, and she wielded a small kitchen knife._

_Alfred kept his sword at the ready, in case the woman attacked him, although judging by her appearance, she looked more like a survivor of Braginski's attack than a warrior. Alfred approached her warily._

_"Who are you?" he asked, and the woman frowned at him, a calculating look on her face._

_"That is what I should ask you, aru. Are you another of Braginski's brutes here to finish me off? Because I __will fight you if you are, aru," she snapped, her hands tightening on her makeshift weapon._

_"Alfred Franklin Jones, of the Order of the Paladins. I heard this village was attacked and was sent to investigate." Not a complete lie, but still evading the truth. Alfred held out his hand, and the woman took it graciously, all traces of bitterness gone._

_"Thank you, aru." Alfred pulled her up to her feet, and the duo headed off towards the end of the villiage. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon._

_"We should set up camp," Alfred announced, "It's getting late."_

"So, three o'clock tomorrow, is that fine?" Francis suddenly spoke, once again interrupting Arthur's tranquility.

"Yes, right, fine," he mumbled.

"And here's your ice."

"Put it on the table." Arthur was starting to suspect that Francis was loitering around just to annoy Arthur. It was working.

"Nothing else I can help you with?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_."

"Really?" Oh, the Frenchman sure was getting on Arthur's nerves, alright.

_"YES_." Arthur decided to ignore Francis and start typing again.

"Are you _sure _you're sure?" Francis said cheekily.

"YES!"

"Will you go out with me after work?"

"_YES!_" It took a while for Francis's words to register in Arthur's brain, but when they did, he blanched. "I mean-"

"Okay then! See you at six, _mon cher_!" Francis said, leaving Arthur's office.

"DON'T YOU _MON CHER_ ME, FROG!" Arthur yelled after him, but the Frenchman was already too far away.

* * *

The date, if you could even call it that, was awkward, to say the least. After Arthur, had refused to pick Francis up, the Frenchman had pulled up to his apartment and had practically kidnapped the Brit, forcing him to go to whatever ridiculously named French restaurant Francis had chosen.

The restaurant was crowded with happy couples, and Arthur spent the night ordering expensive French wine to drown his embarrassment in, whilst Francis, who was the one that was supposed to be interested in the date, spend his night flirting with a cute waiter.

_Please let no one I know see me,_ Arthur repeated in his head like a mantra, _To whoever's listening, I beg you, please-_

"Arthur-san? Is that you?" Spoke a short japanese man. Kiku.

Arthur groaned, downing yet another glass of wine in hopes he would forget this night. Kiku walked over to Arthur, a look of concern crossing his face as he noticed Francis.

"Go away, Kiku... I'm in enough misery already, please, just leave me to die in peace..."

To his annoyance, Kiku instead pulled out a chair, sitting down next to his British friend. "What are you doing here, Arthur-san?"

Arthur clumsily refilled his wine glass, feeling a bit tipsy already. "I could ask you the same thing, Kiku. What brings you to this dump? Francis dragged me here, to answer your question."

Kiku nodded in sympathy."A friend of mine just started working here. I came to visit. Unfortunately, I haven't seen him yet." Arthur noticed that their waiter, who had been called back to the kitchen moments before was arriving, presumably to take their order. Arthur hoped that was so, as he was starting to feel hunger knowing at him.

"Excuse me sirs, may I- Kiku?" The waiter that Francis had been flirting with said, cocking his head in surprise.

"Konichiwa, Matthieu-san," Kiku greeted politely. The two began to talk to each other- discussing everything from the weather to hockey. Francis looked rather put out by it all, irritable after having Matthieu's attention derived from him. Arthur suppressed an amused chuckle at seeing the jealous Frenchman try to cope with having the limelight drawn away from him.

"Oh! Look at the time!" Matthieu suddenly exclaimed, glancing at a red and white watch on his wrist, "I need to be back in the kitchen now! Bye Kiku! Bye Francis!" He started to blush, "Ah- sorry for ignoring you earlier, Francis, I just... Can I have your number?"

Francis looked surprised but none the less pleased, scrawling down his phone number on a napkin, and handing it to the flustered-looking waiter. Kiku and Arthur watched the exchange with mild amusement. The waiter shyly thanked Francis and rushed off to the kitchen.

"A bit of an odd character," Arthur remarked, setting down his wine.

"But none the less handsome, _non_?" Francis remarked. Arthur shrugged.

"I suppose." Although, in the back of Arthur's mind, he had a nagging feeling of deja vu.

* * *

Arthur watched the clock in his office tick by. It was well past three, and still the author of the intriguing science fiction had yet to arrive. He began to doodle absentmindedly on his notepad, dreaming up ideas for his book, he imagined how the current scene would play out.

_The fire crackled in the darkness, releasing a torrent of small sparks and embers in to the air. Chun-Yan and Alfred sat, discussing each other and similar nonsensical things. Alfred gazed at the starry night sky, reminiscing of times when he was younger and more carefree, nights spent staring into the heavens. He would stay up late with his twin, Matthew, and watch the stars. _

_"What are you thinking about, aru?" Chun-Yan asked, watching Alfred with mild interest. The paladin tore his eyes from the sky and his mind from his memories, and turned to face his companion._

_"Just remembering," he answered simply, stoking the fire with the tip of his sword. More embers flew into the dark sky._

_"Remembering?"_

_"My childhood. When things were better. Before Braginski's evil corrupted the world."_

"Nice unicorns," a loud, American voice spoke. Arthur snapped out of his trance to find that his doodles had morphed into the horned horses. Arthur directed his gaze at the unwelcome intruder of his office.

_Bloody interns... _Arthur thought, shooting daggers at the man. He had wheat-blonde hair, with one stubborn-looking lock sticking up defiantly. The man wore glasses, and behind the glass were the most startling sky blue eyes Arthur had ever seen. The man raised his hands up in defense.

"Uh... Dude, you _are _Arthur Kirkland, right? I had an appointment," the man stuttered. Arthur was suddenly hit with a mixture of realization, surprise, and disappointment. _So this is Frederick Smith. Honestly, I was suspecting someone less, for a lack of a better word, obnoxious._

"Ah, yes, Mr. Smith_. _Please, take a seat," Arthur said, gritting his teeth. Frederick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, sitting down on one of the plush chairs that stood in front of the Brit's desk.

"So, Mr. Smith. I arranged an appointment to discuss your novel," Arthur took a deep breath, knowing that the next few words may condemn him to a couple of months of hell.

"I wish to edit your work."

The grin Frederick gave him was so huge Arthur thought that his face would split open.

"Thanks dude!" He reached across the desk and shook Arthur's hand frantically.

_Here's to the age of earache._

**A/N: Here's my first Hetalia (and by extension, my first USUK) fanfic! In case you didn't figure it out, here are some of the nations' names (some:**

**Art Clarkland= Pirate!England**

**Epine= France (Taken from one of France's original human last names)**

**Hernández= Spain (From the whole Hernández-Fernándezconfusion)**

**Weilschmidt= Prussia (Again, an early last name)  
Chun-Yan Wang= Fem!China  
General Braginski= Russia  
Matthieu= Canada  
Frederick Smith= America**

**Comments and constructive criticism is always welcomed!**

**EDIT: Changed Canada's name to Matthieu instead of Matthias, to avoid confusion. Also fixed some things.**


	2. Chapter 2

_A short young boy with messy blond hair stood, hand entwined with a older woman who he had grown to know as someone not unlike a mother to him, staring at the door to the room that may very well change his life. He was scared. It wasn't everyday that one met their new parents._

_The old woman seemed to sense the young boy's distress and squeezed his hand, trying to send him comfort. Then she opened the door._

_The boy's first impression was red hair. Lots of it. Two grumpy-looking adults with amber hair watched over two boys with flaming locks and a sprinkling of freckles, while a teenager stood to the side with more ginger-ish hair. The blonde boy froze, unsure of his new "family". He hid behind the old woman, not daring to make a sound._

_One of the boys turned towards the blonde, and immediate rush of relief fuelled the blonde's courage. _

_At least he wouldn't be teased about his eyebrows._

_The red-head beckoned the blonde forward, and the shy boy slowly shuffled over to him. No more playing with imaginary friends from now on._

_"H-hello!" He said to the red-head haltingly, "M-my name is-"_

"Arthur!" A blinding amount of pain shot from the back of the English writer's head as Francis smacked it with the palm of his hand, trying to wake his boss up. Arthur's nose mashed into his keyboard. Groggily, he lifted his head up, rubbing his aching nose and glared at Francis, mumbling a slur of curse words.

"What do you want, frog?" Arthur snapped, but Francis seemed unfazed.

"I was just gong to tell you that me and Matthieu are going out for lunch, so I'm bringing in Evan to do my job for me for a couple hours, mon ami," Francis explained, already half way out the door. Arthur froze, worry suddenly gripping him. Evan was the new security guard and it was no surprise that Arthur was bloody terrified of the Russian man. In fact, he even closely resembled General Braginski, the main antagonist of Arthur's books.

Arthur composed himself fast enough to throw a crumpled bit of paper at Francis's back and make a face at him as he left Arthur's office. Sometimes Arthur's own level of maturity astounded him.

* * *

Arthur stared, wide-eyed, at the blank screen.

The electronic background of his computer lit his pale face up with a white glow, but Arthur's fingers did not move on the keyboard, did not type. He glanced down at his hands, and then back up at the screen, and with some hesitation, wrote a sentence.

It was terrible. He cringed, erasing it much faster than he had written it. (_At least Francis may have approved, _he thought sourly.)

He gulped. This was the thing that killed creativity, murdered muse, and destroyed authors. He had heard of it before, but had yet to experience it, as his head constantly exploded with the flow of imagination and intricate story line of his novel, as if he had lived the story and was writing it all from memory. Alfred's world never seemed so far away, never seemed so out of touch.

Arthur had caught the dreaded disease of writer's block.

He cradled his head in his hands. He could feel a headache coming on, and he sipped his tea, but it did little to calm him. He ended up looking at his work files, clicking on to Frederick's document. Maybe he could at least achieve some simple editing whilst in his frustrated state of mind. As he scrolled through Frederick's story he felt another migraine come on, but this one for a different reason. The story Frederick had written had little mistakes, and those that were present were minor, unlike the American's rushed-looking emails he had sent Arthur, riddled with spelling mistakes and horrific grammatical errors.

If fact, the story had some subtle but clever bits of humour, feisty and interesting characters, and scenes that instilled extreme emotion in Arthur's heart. He even teared up a bit at the ending, where Art died. All together it seemed something that Frederick could simply not achieve. Arthur just couldn't imagine the brash American writing such a magnificent book, but Arthur had learned you should never judge a book by its cover.

He had experienced this far too well.

He felt his eyes glass over.

_"Artie? Artie! Where the bloody hell are you, you twerp? Off playing with the fairies again?" A red-headed teenager sneered, a malicious expression on his face. Arthur hid in the closet in his bedroom, sniffling a bit and hugging his unicorn plushie. He was only eight years old, and already his arms were littered with bruise marks from far too rough play._

_The doors to the closet were opened with a tremendous force, and Arthur screamed in terror as his older "sibling" stared down and him, yanking his arm up and throwing him down on the floor. _

_"Found you!" He yelled, cackling, causing Arthur to scream again._

Arthur shook his head, trying to rid himself from the memories. He was no longer a wimpy child, and Allistor couldn't terrorise him. He was an adult, far away from Scotland. Arthur sighed, closing his computer, just as his cellphone rang, blaring the new obnoxious tune Francis had set it as.

"Hello, this is Arthur Kirkland, CEO of Hetalia-" Arthur began, tiredly.

_"Artie!" _an all too familiar voice yelled, _"It's Mattie! He's been kidnapped!"_

"...What."

_"My older brother, dude! Some French guy just grabbed him from the front doorstep!"_

Arthur sighed. So Matthieu was Frederick's brother. He should have guessed, the two looked remarkably similar.

"Frederick, I think I know what's going on here, and no, Matthieu hasn't been kidnapped."

_"... You know Mattie? What happened to him?!"_

"I'm surprised he didn't tell you. He's dating my secretary. And anyway, why would you go to me for help?" Arthur leant back in his chair. He was expecting another headache to come on, but Mistress Fate seemed to be going easy on him, as Frederick's ever so annoying voice had yet to make the Englishman's head split in two.

_"I thought you would know him! He passed me on the way to your office; I called you 'cause I thought he was one of your clients. I didn't know Mattie swung that way."_

"You sure don't know much about your own brother." Not that Arthur could relate, as he never had any biological family and had never really connected to his adopted kin.

_"He was living in Canada for most of my life- our parents had a divorce. I just found him when I moved to London, working in some French restaurant!"_

"Wonder what brought him to London," Arthur mused, taking a bite of the _not-burnt-at-all_ scone (despite Francis saying otherwise) he had baked this morning, "Anyways, I am glad to have been of assistance in locating your brother, Frederick."

"Bye then, Artie!" Arthur could almost sense the American's cheeky grin over the phone line as Arthur scowled at the nickname.

* * *

It was late at night when Arthur finished his work for the day. He had yet to have gotten rid of his horrendous writer's block, but he had gotten some massive editing work done on Kiku's newest manga novel, Nurato- not being a native English speaker, the Japanese manga artist's work was full of spelling errors.

Francis had yet to return to the office, leaving Arthur to be checked up on every half-hour by Evan, sometimes at the least expected moments. Evan had a permanent smile and 'sweet' demeanour, but the tall man was utterly terrifying when angry. Arthur suspected that his secretary's "lunch break" had turned into more of a "ditch work-and-spend-the-whole-day-flirting-leaving-Arthur-with-the-one-man-who-scared-the-hell-out-of-him" kind of thing.

Either way, it was time for Arthur to go home anyway, and so he packed up his computer, stashed it in his shoulder bag, picked up some documents and walked out the door.

What he wasn't expecting was an annoying American acquaintance of his to walk into him, spilling the paper Arthur was carrying all over the floor.

"Bloody hell, Frederick! Can't you see where you're going?!" Arthur picked himself off the ground and started gathering up his spilled documents.

"Sorry Artie! I was kinda waiting for you, and I guess I wasn't paying much attention," Frederick nervously rubbed the back of his neck and then bent down to help Arthur pick up his paper.

"You don't even have an appointment, why are you here?" Arthur snapped, grabbing the paper Frederick had gathered from his hands, and began to walk away.

"Hey! I just came around to thank you for helping me find Mattie!" Frederick protested, jogging up to Arthur. The Brit scowled.

"You could have called."

"I did! But the line was dead or something!"

Ah. Arthur had unplugged the phone when his migraine had returned with a vengeance a few hours ago. Even so, Frederick should have phoned Evan. Or maybe the terrifying Russian had scared him off.

Arthur kept walking.

"Hey! To make it up to you, why don't I get you dinner, Artie?" Frederick jogged slightly to catch up to Arthur, his tone apologetic. Arthur merely scowled, picking up his pace.

"Don't walk away! Artie, how else am I going to apologise for knocking you down? After all, I hate being in debt to someone!"

_"After all, I hate being in debt to someone!" A young blonde boy with shining blue eyes said, sitting down next to Arthur on a stone bench, as he playfully swung an arm around the grumpy orphan._

Arthur snapped back into reality by Frederick shaking him on the shoulder. He hadn't realised that he had frozen in place, and that his green eyes had taken on a glassy look to them.

"Dude, are you OK?" Frederick asked, and Arthur slapped his hand away, sighing.

"I suppose, just this once, I'll accept your apology."

Arthur heard Frederick cheer childishly at this, and at this Arthur rolled his eyes. In accepting Frederick's offer, he had in turn apologized himself for spacing out.

After all, it wasn't Frederick's fault he looked just like Arthur's old imaginary friend.

**A/N(ThatOneFlyingMintBunny):**

**Sorry for taking so long to post this "^J^ The wifi here in Sicily is a bit iffy.**

**My best friend and fellow Hetalian (though she may deny it), ParallelDimension75, Beta-d this chapter.**

**Say hi, Parallel.**

**(INSERT SMALL ARGUMENT HERE)**

**A/N(ParallelDimension75): I am going to kill you, Bunny. Slowly. With a very dull spoon.**

**And no, I am not going insert a 'small' argument there. One, because you can't tell me what to write, and two, because my ranting and raving wouldn't fit in a (pause for counting) 25-character long space.**

**SO I KIND OF WATCH HETALIA! AND I KIND OF WROTE A HETALIA FANFIC! SO WHAT? THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME A HETALIAN!**

**And I kind of ship AusHun, because I think Prussia is a big stupid jerk.**

**Ha! TAKE THAT, MINTBUNNY! (not the England one, the real and very annoying one who wrote this story)**

**And turn ^J^ cute Russia face into `_J_` creepy Stalin face. Cute Russia is too nice and cute for this VERY SERIOUS and VERY HEATED discussion, or debate (argument).**

**BTW, MintBunny, have a serious problem with adjectives that don't fully describe the situation. I mean, when it says 'Or maybe the Russian had scared him off' the adjective used to be creepy. CREEPY. I mean, seriously, if you were face to face with Russia you would not be 'creeped out'. YOU WOULD BLOODY TERRIFIED!**

**A/N (ThatOneFlyingMintBunny)**

**Mmmhmmm. Deny it all you like, Parallel. I read your profile. And I know where you live. (Not that I would be able to do anything once I got there- maybe because of my lack of skill and available weapons, maybe because I'm too clumsy to scale the high walls and get past your guard bunny undetected, or maybe because I need an "easily aggravated" (read: acts just like Iggy. (Parallel, you even have a bunny. Don't deny it.)) Beta-reader. Your choice. All three options are plausible.)**

**I feel that cute Russia is much, _much _more fitting for this VERY SERIOUS, VERY HEATED, VERY ONE-SIDED debate. Also, remember how you _just _described Stalin Russia? Creepy, that's how.**

**Also, once you've done killing me with that spoon, it is my last wish that you read, and watch, every Hetalia moment. 50 times. You can't mess with a girl's Last Will and Testament.**

**My other final wishes are that you tell all my watchers on Deviantart and so on that I have died, and that you write my fate on my gravestone. In Verdana font- It's my favourite. My headstone should read:**

**Here lies ThatOneFlyingMintBunny.**

**Avid author, devoted Whovian, brilliant Brony, loyal Hetalian, lover of all things Ace Attorney and Ghosttrick, and all-round Yaoi fangirl. She was killed via spoon.**

**Now, for the name translations that make my work decipherable:**

**Evan= Russia, obviously.**

** THE GINGERS:**

**The parents: The British Isles (Not the same as Britian/England/UK)**

**Teenage Ginger= Wales**

**The other young red-head: Ireland**

**Allistor= Scotland**


	3. Chapter 3

"So, Frederick, why ever did you come to London?" Arthur asked, keeping up the pleasant small talk the duo of writers had been using to pass the time. 'Pleasant' was a bit of a stretch though. A more suitable adjective would have been 'awkward'. Arthur just hoped that Frederick's choice of restaurant wasn't some fast food restaurant, selling the hamburgers Frederick seemed to enjoy so much.

Frederick looked a bit apprehensive about the subject. "I was researching stuff for my university, and I decided I liked the place, that's all. Of course, finding Mattie was a plus."

That was a bit odd. Frederick had always had something to complain about, whether it be over the phone or in one of his e-mails; the weather here was too rainy, tea was too bitter, Englishmen called "soccer" "football"- Arthur's eye twitched in annoyance after remembering the last one.

The night was chilly, sending small shivers of cold through Arthur's body. He pulled his emerald jacket tighter around his body. It seemed the walk to Frederick's chosen restaurant would take longer than expected. No matter. There seemed to be endless topics to discuss with Frederick.

"So, Frederick," Arthur began. "Have you any stories to tell? You seem to be full of surprises, what with Matthieu being your brother and all."

"Hmmm… Stories about me… Where to start, Artie!" Frederick beamed, pride on his face. It seemed the American's ego was endless, "I mean, there's stories 'bout Mattie, my childhood, my university, Oliver-"

"Who?" Arthur asked, curiosity taking over him. Frederick had never mentioned an Oliver.

"Oh! Uh..." the American hesitated, probably for the first time Arthur had seen. Frederick fidgeted. "Ollie was my old childhood friend. We used to be neighbours. He was English too- he always used to invite me over for tea and a soccer match." Frederick grinned, recovering his composure.

"Football," Arthur corrected, "But go on."

"Don't tell everyone. It's kind of my, uh, secret." Frederick continued, unaware of the Brit's football comment. "So, anyway, Ollie ended up moving away a year after I met him. It was a big shock for both of us- Ollie's parents died suddenly and he was taken in by his aunt in Scotland. I wonder if he's still there today."

"That's a real shame," Arthur said, and it was genuine, "I spent some time in Scotland as a child- I hated it."

"So, now you've successful squeezed out my deepest secret, how about you, Artie? What was your childhood like?" Frederick asked cheekily. Arthur grimaced.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"That bad?"

"If you count being beaten within an inch of your life and forced to consider your own sanity nonexistent, then yes," Arthur said, "That bad."

Frederick looked taken aback. Arthur scowled, walking ahead. He hated that the night was ruined by some small talk. If you knew Arthur, then you knew his past was a subject you should never, never touch upon. A certain frog had learnt this all too well.

Ah, Francis. Arthur remembered almost fondly when he had first me his secretary- back when he had just started working at the publishing company. Of course, Francis wasn't technically his secretary back then- Francis was new to the company as well and was working for some anonymous publisher. The two met when Francis literally ran into him- much like Frederick had done earlier- and the two had become fast frenemies.

It was only later, when the frog asked about Arthur's backstory, did the author start not-so-secretly keeping a dart board in his office with Francis's face on it. And made a voodoo doll of the Frenchman. And started cursing him with whatever dark magic he found on the internet. And so on.

It was such a shame that Frederick had unwittingly fallen into the same trap Francis had, partially because Arthur had run out of dartboards and voodoo dolls, but mostly because despite Frederick's annoying American behaviour he seemed to have a good heart.

"Oh! We're here!" Frederick said suddenly, halting Arthur's train of thought. A small, homely building stood in front of the two authors, a dark green sign proclaiming "The Golden Chalice Pub" in golden letters. Arthur was astonished. Who would have thought Frederick would choose a actual British, well-stocked-with-alcohol (Arthur's main point in deciding where to eat), pub? The only problem was that Arthur hadn't heard of this pub before, so he couldn't have gone to it sooner.

"Hey, are you gonna keep staring at it like that or are we gonna go in, Artie?" Frederick asked. Arthur scowled.

"Firstly, "gonna" isn't a real word. It's "going to". And secondly, my name's Arthur," Arthur reprimanded, but took up the American's offer, walking towards the building and attempting to open it.

"What the hell?" he swore, when the doorknob didn't move. Frederick walked over to him, observing his struggle. Arthur fiddled with the doorknob a bit more, and then banged on the door. When no answer came, he resumed trying to wrench the doorknob off.

"Hey- it might be stuck. Lemme help!" Fredrick said, reaching over and grabbing the doorknob, whilst Arthur was still holding it. His head rested on Arthur's shoulder as he glared at the doorknob, trying to melt it off as if he had laser-eyes. Arthur was suddenly very aware on how close they were.

Arthur blushed and tugged his hand away, in turn pushing Frederick's hand off the knob. He walked few steps away from the American, who apparently had no sense of personal space.

"It's 'let me', not 'lemme'," he corrected, trying to hide his embarrassment, "And anyway, the door's locked. We may as well eat elsewhere." It was quite a shame- the pub looked quite inviting, and a drink (or two. Or five) would be needed if he was going to deal with Frederick all evening.

* * *

In the end the duo ended up ordering food from a takeaway store, just as Arthur had feared, and eating it in the park next to the store. Arthur hadn't even been able to buy a drink and this was souring his mood considerably. The duo ate in silence, Arthur nibbling on his fish and chips and Frederick scoffing down his fifth- no, he just finished one- sixth hamburger.

"You know what sucks, Artie?" Frederick asked, breaking the silence. Arthur shrugged. "I really wanted to show you that I'm not just a stupid, junk eating American and that I could actually think of you. I was planning on taking you out earlier- not like a date or anything, just to eat together as friends. I spent hours trying to find the right restaurant, and now I just ended up eating the same thing as always."

Arthur was dumbfounded. To think he had even been considering treating Frederick the same way as Francis! Now he looked like the jerk. Maybe he would have to suggest another meal as compensation for his rude demeanour. A small bit of Arthur was mocking him, calling this meal a "first date" of many more. It was lucky he never listened to that voice. Anyways, he had to apologise to Frederick in some form. It was then a brilliant and potentially stupid idea popped into his head.

"My favourite colour is green," started Arthur, quite shakily. Frederick looked over to him in confusion.

"Huh? How's that relate to anything, Artie?"

"I'm trying to let you know me better," Arthur explained, and Frederick nodded in understanding.

"So, it's like twenty questions then?" Frederick guessed.

"Yes, just like that. I'll ask you a question, then answer one of yours. For an example, what's your favourite animal?"

"An eagle. Yours?"

"A unicorn. Or, if that doesn't count, a lion."

They spent the rest of the evening playing the strange game Arthur had thought up, until they parted within a quick "goodbye" and "hope to se you again". Arthur smiled as he walked away. He had just told Frederick more about himself than he had told anyone else, even if it had been just trivial facts.

He he supposed he could now call Frederick his friend- the word sounded foreign in his head. He had never really had a friend before-Francis didn't count, on the basis of being a frog, and Kiku and Matthieu were more acquaintances than anything.

On the subject of frogs, he wondered where Francis had been the whole day. Of course he had his date with Matthieu, but that didn't explain his whole day of absence. His question was answered soon enough as he heard a very familiar snigger emanate from a bush next to the bench Arthur had been sitting on previously. Two blonde heads poked our of the foliage, one looking rather apologetic, and the other suggestive.

"Francis?! What the hell?!" Arthur cried, walking over to the small bush Matthieu and Francis pulled themselves out of. He was utterly outraged, and a bit confused- what were Francis and Matthieu doing here? The obvious answer was spying on him, but how had he not noticed them before. Francis, like Frederick, had the dreadful "not-being-able-to-keep-their-mouth-shut" disease.

Francis looked a little dizzy, as he smiled at Arthur. Maybe he was drunk, and had just happened to pass out in the same park as Arthur had.

"Looks like someone has a new boyfriend!" he jeered, making Arthur's blood boil and his cheeks redden furiously. He and Frederick weren't dating! How dare the Frog insinuate something like that. Matthieu just sighed, silently begging Arthur not to blame him for Francis's offhand remark.

"How dare you, Frog!" Arthur growled. He had been on a bit of an emotional roller coaster tonight- from annoyance to happiness, back to annoyance, then to embarrassment, then back to happiness. Now the Frog was pushing him into utter rage territory. When Francis let loose one of his infamous chuckles, it was the final straw.

Suddenly, Arthur's hand, the one with the tea mark, began to burn. Arthur gasped and clutched his hand.

"Ooh," Francis simpered. "Did l'amour touch that hand in the form of a good-bye kiss?"

Despite the near blinding pain in his hand, Arthur's rage won out. Arthur dived for the frog, hands outstretched in murderous rage. The Frog managed to sidestep the attack though, sending Arthur flying into the bush.

And straight through the ground.

* * *

When Arthur opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of a woman leaning over him, mild curiosity mixed with concern on her face. Arthur groaned weakly in pain. His eyes were unfocused, and his ears ringed. He felt as if he was going to throw up. His head pounded and every muscle in his body throbbed. His hand ached. To top it all off, he was extremely confused by the woman's appearance. Was she some kind of paramedic or something? He distinctly remembered blacking out when he fell in the bush.

That was just it, though- why did he black out? It didn't make much sense, and the only reasonable explanation Arthur could think of- a Herculean task in itself, what with his massive headache- was that he had hit his head on the metal bench when he fell.

His eyes focused on behind the woman's head. A navy blue sky punctuated with glittering stars. Arthur frowned. How long had he been out? It hadn't been that late. And besides, you couldn't see the stars in London.

"Who are you, aru?" The woman said, poking Arthur on the shoulder. The weakened Brit managed to roll his head to the side (although he later wished he didn't- it hurt like hell to move his head) to get a better look of her. Her auburn hair was pulled up in two buns and her golden eyes indicated Asian descent. Arthur couldn't help but think she looked a bit familiar.

He opened his mouth to answer, but instead he let out a whimper of pain. She looked concerned, and walked over towards the silhouette of a person standing off to the side. Arthur didn't dare try to move his head again- he might have broken bones. However, his curiosity towards the identity of the figure was soon dispelled, when the man walked forward, looking a bit sheepish.

He could only be a knight. Dressed in full steel armour, with a broad sword sheathed at his side, a glittering eagle emblazoned on the chest plate and a large shield with the same crest made. But as he stepped forward, his face caught the light.

Frederick.

Arthur stared at Frederick, but only one thought flashed through his mind.

_Alfred?_

**A/N: (ThatOneFlyingMintBunny)**

**Okay. This took forever. Between coming back from holidays in Italy, schoolwork, and stress from Parallel's insistent nagging, it's been quite tough to write up this chapter. This is about 100 or so words longer than usual, so that's good, I guess. What were Francis and Matthieu doing in that freaking bush? Who knows? Find out next edition! (The suspense is killing me.)**

**Also, the date scene was extremely hard to write. I know it's a bit dorky, so sorry. I just haven't written any USUK yet so this is a bit awkward.**

**A few more boring things I will rant about- you can probably skip these and go on to Parallel Iggy's (Sorry, Dimension's) ever-so-hilarious rant. First off, Team Fortress 2 is amazing. Second off, Pyro is extremely amazing. Thirdly, I just transferred my only story on my other account to Iggy over here. She writes it better than me. (Except when it comes to her insistence that Ankoku should be called Ugaina or whatever urgggghhhh!)**

**Your turn, PI75.**

**A/N: (Parallel)**

**The first word I saw when I copy-and-pasted this thing into a document was the word "foliage" and then the word "boyfriend" and my immediate thought is 'oh god, Bunny's made England and America fall into a bush together' or some other random stuff like that.**

**And ever since I've admitted I'm terrible at cooking, Bunny over there has been incessantly calling me Iggy (well, actually, she called me Iggy even before that but she's doing it even more now) and in return I've been calling her 'Merica because i honestly can't find a more annoying/insulting nickname for her. Or I'll just start calling her Useless Italy, who knows?**

**And yes, I am better at writing It's Always Darkest Before The Dawn than you, Bunny. Maybe because I'm a Pokémon nerd and proud and you are just obsessed with Celebi. Also maybe because I know when a name means something ridiculous, and 'Yugaina' is a lot better than 'Ankoku' which happens to mean 'bean-jam boy' in Japanese. So, no thanks to you, Bunny, that my favourite character got a better name *stickstongueoutandblowsaraspberry*.**

**And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll just try and come up with something funnier to say because my humour and sarcasm bar is on low today, no thanks to a certain flying bunny.**

**(a few hours later)**

**... still nothing. Maybe today just isn't my day...**

**A/N (ThatOneFlyingMintBunny)**

**YES! *jumps on the opportunity hassle Parallel***

**And we looked up Ankoku together. It means darkness. Anko is a bean jam, and -ku is typically a addition for a boy's name, but together they DON'T mean "bean jam boy". **

**Definition of Ankoku:**

**Ankoku (****暗黒****) means darkness**.

**From Wikipedia's page on Anko:**

**In ****Japanese****, a number of names are used to refer to red bean paste; these include an (****餡****?****), anko (****餡子****?****), and ogura (****小倉****?****). **

**IT IS ONE OF THE NAMES. THE KANJI IS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. GET OVER IT PARALLEL.**


	4. Chapter 4

Kiku stood outside Kirkland Publishing Co., sopping wet and filled with uncertainty. Arthur had yet to send Kiku any updates on the process of editing the Japanese authors' newest manga, and seeing as Kiku had received the dream offer of turning his series into an anime a few weeks ago, he desperately needed his story finished soon, if not now. He had tried calling Arthur's office phone, but he had only been met with rushed excuses from Francis, Arthur's secretary- Arthur had a meeting, Arthur was busy writing his own book, Arthur was getting married- all of which were obviously untrue. Well, at least the last one. So, today Kiku decided that he would just man up and confront his publisher about the lack of correspondence- even if it was primarily against pretty much all of Kiku's reserved nature to do so.

He opened the door to the reception room, walking inside quietly towards Francis, who appeared to be dozing off with his face leaning on his computer keyboard, which, upon further inspection, was revealed to cause the document Francis had obviously fallen asleep writing be filled up with pages consisting of phrases like: " nun juubvggfvycxcxgvhu09". Kiku deliberated whoever to wake Francis or wait until he woke up himself, but after notching that the mouse pad Fracis's cheek was resting on was moving the curser progressively closer to the print button on the 203 page document, he decided that it was in the best interest to both Kiku and the printer if he woke Francis up now.

He started to shake Francis, slowly and gently at first but becoming a lot firmer when the Frenchman wouldn't wake up. The Frenchman awoke with an unattractive grunt, wiping a bit of drool off his face. He then turned towards Kiku, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, obviously very self-conscious of his lack of composure. And he had a right to be. His hair was mussed, his clothes wrinkled, and a bit of drool was still present on the side of his cheek.

"If you tell Arthur anything about this-" Francis let the threat hang in the air. It was unneeded. Kiku would never tell Arthur about this moment- he was too polite to put Francis into such an uncomfortable position, even if Kiku was a bit annoyed at Francis for feeding him lies about Arthur. However, Kiku snapped a photo of the Frenchman without compunction, as it might be just the tool he needed for getting Francis to open up about where Arthur's true whereabouts were. He wouldn't show the photo to Arthur, that would be just a bit to cruel for Kiku's standards, but he was sure Matthieu would be pleased to see the pictures during his and Kiku's next meet up. He was sure the Frenchman's boyfriend, who Kiku knew harboured a bit of a mischievous side underneath all his politeness, would have a lot of fun teasing Francis about the pictures. If it ever came to that.

But first Kiku would ask Francis politely, keeping his trump card hidden. Once the secretary had regained his composure, he turned towards Kiku.

"So, what are you doing out this late at night, _mon ami_?" Francis asked, twirling a pen in his hand absentmindedly.

"I've come to see Arthur-san. It has been a few weeks since I gave him my manga to edit, and he still has yet to reply," Kiku explained, hoping that for once Francis would tell him the truth about Arthur. It must be very serious if it was being hidden from Kiku, one of Arthur's personal friends and regular clients. Francis suddenly averted his eyes from Kiku's, instead pretending to sort through some papers.

"Francis-san?" Kiku asked. The Frenchman continued, pretending he hadn't heard. Kiku looked at him pointedly, but the Frenchman simply looked away.

"Francis-san, I am sure that Matthieu would find the picture I took of you in your disheveled state very amusing," Kiku said off-handedly.

Francis froze. A paper from the middle of the pile came loose and floated to the floor.

"You... you wouldn't..." Francis stuttered. Kiku gave a small smile.

"Now, if you don't mind, what has happened to Arthur-san?"

Francis sighed, plucking the paper from the floor and unceremoniously stuffing the lot into one of the myriad of drawers that lined the room. "It is complicated, mon ami. I... I don't think that... I can't really explain... perhaps Arthur should explain to you once he returns. Yes, I think that is best."

Kiku took his cell phone out of his pocket and waved it in front of the Frenchman. "Remember, Francis-san. All I need to do is press the send button, and Matthieu-san will see it."

Of course, the Frog's selfishness won out. The horror of Matthieu seeing those photos would be... unparalleled. Well, Arthur in his angry moments could certainly rival, such as Arthur's reaction would doubtless be if he told Kiku, but... Francis had to save his and Matthieu's relationship.

"Arthur has... well, you know the story he has been writing?" Francis started. Kiku nodded in response.

"Yes, I have read the first few chapters. It is very interesting."

"Well-"

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Evan the absolutely terrifying security guard walked in. Francis gulped, his face turning as white as a sheet. Evan seemed to lower the temperature of the room wherever he went, causing Kiku to shiver slightly.

"Francis, the time has arrived to lock up. I need all visitors," he turned towards Kiku. "To leave."

"You should go, Kiku," Francis said nervously.

"But what about-"

Francis didn't let Kiku finish, ushering the protesting Japanese man out the door, slamming it behind him. Kiku sighed, too resigned to even send the stupid blackmail to Matthieu. At least the rain had stopped, although there will still large puddles of water scattered everywhere, which soon soaked Kiku's boots and trousers as he walked back to his flat.

However, soon the unrelenting skies of London were back at it again, icy cold droplets soaking through Kiku's coat. He dived for protection underneath some trees at a local park, hoping to shield himself from the rain, when through the curtain of water Kiku spied Matthieu. Matthieu was talking to someone near a small group of bushes. He moved to approach his friend, when he saw it. The man Matthieu was conversing with had disappeared into the bushes, like magic.

Kiku froze as Matthieu turned away from the bushes, looking right where Kiku was standing. There eyes locked in mutual surprise.

Matthieu ran.

* * *

Arthur guessed he passed out after that startling image, because when he awoke he was in a very different surrounding indeed. He was in a dimly lit room, made from what appeared to be mud brick. The roof was thatched and shelves containing variously coloured liquid adorned the walls. A short man in what seemed to be a loosely-fitting rough-spun tunic scampered around; grabbing bottles off shelves and snatching dried herbs from the strands of rope they hung from.

It occurred to Arthur then that this was all probably all a prank of Francis's design, some kind of twisted joke. At least that explained where the Frenchman had been the whole day. If that was the case, Arthur mentally filed away a reminder to fire him the moment he got back home. For now, however, Arthur supposed he could play along with Francis's little joke.

He laughed softly to imagine the stricken look on the Frog's face when he revealed his prank, only for Arthur to reply calmly that he knew all along, and then note that such a stunt would cost Francis his job. A bolt of pain stabbed his chest at the laugh, however, reminding Arthur that he was injured and still lying somewhere in a mud hut. Oh well, he could file for a lawsuit later.

At his groan, the man in the room perked up, walking over to where Arthur was lying. Now that he was closer, Arthur could get a better look at him. The man had reddish-brown hair with a small curled strand sticking out, sort of like Mattheiu's hair, but more of a spiral than a loop. He had amber eyes and olive skin, and he grinned brightly at Arthur.

"Ah, you're awake now, ve. You look hungry! Do you want some pasta?" The brunet said with a very thick Italian accent. He held up a plate of spaghetti, what he had been presumably been making while Arthur was sleeping, and Arthur realised he was indeed hungry. His stomach growled loudly in reply, and the Italian handed him the plate, running off again to check a few books.

Arthur stared at the pasta, then back up again, seeing the Italian's head pop up over the bookcase. What... exactly... was Francis doing?

Arthur heard the sound of a door opening and closing. He slowly set the plate on a wooden bedside table, trying to see who had come in.

"Ah, hello again!" The Italian man bounced around the bookshelf. "I would like to introduce you to-"

"Kiku?"

An obviously Japanese man had followed the Italian in. He had short, chin length black hair, amber-brown eyes and was small in stature. His arms were folded so you couldn't see his hands. He was practically identical to Kiku, except he was wearing a Japanese-style rough-hewn brown tunic (not quite a kimono) and at his waist was a rather large, intimidating black katana.

The Japanese man blinked. "Who?"

Arthur scanned him again. As far as he knew, Kiku didn't have any identical twins, or any family in England. Arthur cocked his head, then held out his hand. "Arthur. A pleasure to meet you. And who might you be?"

The Japanese man bowed. "Honda Sakura. A pleasure to meet you too, Arthur-san."

Arthur blinked. "Wait... Sakura? You're a girl?"

In one, fluid movement, the Japanese man -girl- had her katana drawn, had leapt to his bedside, and had the tip pressed against his chest. The Italian gasped and fell over backwards, causing an assortment of rather important-looking vials of multicoloured liquid to topple off the desk and smash on top of him.

"Just because I carry around a katana and can fight does not mean that I cannot be a girl, _Arthur-san_," Sakura spat.

"Sakura! Don't attack our patients, ve!" The Italian groaned, standing. His tunic was now stained with bright pink and blue liquid. Some patches had melded to create a luridly violent shade of purple.

Sakura huffed and re-sheathed the katana. She muttered something in angry Japanese, only one word of which Arthur could understand, _yarou_ -asshole- before giving him an angry amber glare.

"I- I-" the flustered Brit protested, sure he was red in the face. "I'm not sexist, I just have a friend who looks a lot like you!"

Everybody said Kiku looked like a girl, especially from behind. Arthur had gotten so used to correcting everyone that his perception had been skewed until he thought that everyone in Japan who looked like a girl was a guy.

Oh, bloody hell, now he sounded racist. It took a millisecond to decide wether or not to say that piece of information out loud.

"Anyway," the Italian said awkwardly, smiling, trying to pretend nothing had happened. he stuck out his hand, a cheerful grin plastered on his face. "I'm Feliciano! _Buongiorno_! Nice to meet you!"

Arthur shook his hand gingerly, painfully aware of the fact the Italian's hand was covered in a strange blue substance. Sakura went back behind the bookcase, and Arthur heard the sound of a door opening. He thought for a split second that Sakura had gone, until he saw her return.

"Ludwig wants Arthur-san's status report. He is getting impatient," Sakura said. Feliciano jumped and ran out of the door, only pausing to offer a hurried "_Ciao_!" before disappearing.

Arthur pulled himself up to a sitting position, wincing. He noticed the mud-brick floor was stained with pink, blue, and fluorescent purple.

Sakura glared at the bookcase, avoiding meeting Arthur's gaze, arms crossed. Had that remark really made her detest him so much? he cleared his throat uncomfortably, wishing he had something to say to break the ice. Well, nothing like some improvisation!

"Erm, uh, Sakura," he started. He cringed. He sounded like a bloody idiot. "Where are we?"

Sakura's glare turned full force onto him. "That does not concern you."

"Seeing as I'm being kept here, it does concern me!" Arthur said vehemently. Sakura shook her head and returned her stoic gaze to the bookshelf. "Ludwig is the leader. If you wish to know something, Arthur-san, ask him."

Arthur opened his mouth for a retort when the door opened again, Feliciano bouncing in again. The man who followed was the tallest of them all by far, his neat blond hair almost brushing the ceiling. His hard blue eyes were like ice, and it seemed as though he lived in a perpetual frown. He too was in old-fashioned clothing, consisting of a white-edged blue tunic with navy blue breeches and brown boots. He too had a sword strapped to his side, although it was a western-style broadsword. He wore white gloves on both hands.

This must be the infamous Ludwig. Arthur tried to sit up a little straiter. This man had a cold seriousness too him that said clearly he was _not_ to be trifled with.

"Welcome, Arthur," he said. His voice was deep, with a thick German accent. "Welcome home."

"_What_?!"

**A/N (ThatOneFlyingMintBunny): I am soooooo sorry for keeping you guys waiting for so long- hope this chapter makes up for it. I move in and out of fandoms very quickly- in my absence, I have fallen in love with Team Fortress 2, Sherlock, Death Note, Deadpool and In The Flesh, my current main fandom! Happy late new year!**

**Here is the ever-suffering beta reader (and my best friend) ParallelDimension, to release her frustration with the lateness of this chapter.**

**A/N (ParallelDimension75): HOW LONG DID THAT TAKE?! HOW LONG?! HOW DAMN LONG?!**

**Ahhhh... The shift key is so good with stress release. Thank you, O Mighty God Apple. Thank you.**

**One thing I just have to mention for the sake of it, though; Bunny actually called Evan the janitor. Yeah. She messed up and wrote the wrong thing- in her own story. Cue slow clapping. Another thing I have to mention, which I hate, is how since you are the one who actually publishes, I don't get a rebuttal to your rebuttal of whatever I wrote up here. On the subject of Yugaina's name, my friend actually speaks Japanese. You do not. I trust her. I do not trust you. Nor do I trust Google Translate or the Internet, seeing as neither have a particularly clean record either.**

**I am pretty sure the rest is self-explanatory.**

**A/N (ThatOneFlyingMintBunny):**

**1\. I haven't written in six months or so. There's bound to be some mistakes, such as the janitor thing, and you don't have to be rude.**

**2\. Because most of what I write is like: (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ "Happy Holidays thank you for waiting for me to post I love you all! Also PD75 acts like my favourite character lol that's why I like her!" and most of what you write is:(ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻ "You suck so much Minty screw you I hope you get killed by a fork also I DO NOT act like your favourite character which also happens to be one of my favourites." So I have the right to a rebuttal. Besides, you can comment.**

**3\. Did I mention Yugaina in this chapter? Like, AT ALL? If you're replying to the chapter I wrote SIX MONTHS AGO then MY GOD I ALREADY KNOW WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS FIFTEEN THOUSAND TIMES OMG GET OVER IT MAIA I ACCEPT DEFEAT CALL HER WHATEVER YOU WANT GOOOOOOOOOOD! I was expecting you to say something like "Oh great, more fandoms means more stupid OTPs for you to annoy me with", to which I would reply something like "HaahhahahahhhahhahhaaahhhahahhhaaSirenhhahahhhahJohnlockhahhahahhahahhhaaa CakeandChipshahahhhhaahhahahhahahahaaTexasToasthhhahahahahahahahahSpideypoolhahahahhhahahhahaaa"**

**End of rebuttal. *bows***


End file.
